


la pomme tombée

by BeggarWhoRides



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Delphine Cormier-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Family Bonding, Gen, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Mental Health Issues Mention, Post-Deathly Hallows, Post-Orphan Black, Self-Indulgent, Unhealthy Family Mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 07:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11436186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeggarWhoRides/pseuds/BeggarWhoRides
Summary: Delphine is reading when there's a crack just outside her door, like a gunshot. She startles before she realizes the sound is familiar, and is at the door before the first soft knocks.(In which two cousins reconnect, two women discuss the storms they've weathered, and the nameDelphine Cormieris as on the nose asRemus Lupin)





	la pomme tombée

**Author's Note:**

> Can you say "almost 6k of complete self-indulgence"? 
> 
> Set post-DH and post-OB, though written before the end of s5 so may be completely off. Epilogue-compliant for HP.
> 
> Warnings for: mentions and discussions of OB and HP-compliant violence (though none directly onscreen) and brief mention of unhealthy handling of serious mental illness, in line with how it's treated in HP canon.

It’s a quiet afternoon, dark rolling clouds promising a storm, and Delphine finds herself rubbing at the scar on her stomach--it always acts up a bit when the weather turns sour. Cosima is at a matinee of one of Alison’s plays, though Alison never had truly warmed up to Delphine so she’d opted to stay home. She is reading through the latest issue of _Canadian Medical Association Journal_ when there’s a crack just outside her door, like a gunshot through the quiet afternoon. She startles enough to drop the journal before she realizes the sound is familiar, but it isn’t a gun.

She’s at the door before the first soft knocks. 

“And here she is, my favorite little cousin!” She’s pulled into a tight embrace before she can blink. The scent of her cousin, airy and floral, her cousin’s French, it all takes her right back to France and summer holidays, and Delphine closes her eyes, holds her back, and breathes. 

“Fleur.” 

“Oh, it’s been far too long.” It’s been a long, long time since Delphine has spoken French with a native speaker, but it feels good to hear. “Look at you, in _Canada_ of all places! You’re far too skinny,” she adds, holding Delphine at arms length. 

“You sound like your mother-in-law,” Delphine replies, laughing as Fleur swats at her arm. “Coffee?” 

“Please,” Fleur says, hanging up her coat. “The English make terrible coffee.” 

“So you’ve always said.” Delphine turns away to start measuring out the grounds while Fleur moves about the apartment, unabashedly investigating the way she unabashedly does everything. “How did you hear I moved to Canada?”

“I keep tabs on my favorite cousin the best I can,” Fleur calls back, settling at the kitchen table. “Your taste has changed.” 

“It hasn’t, actually.” Delphine looks around at the eclectic wall decorations and rugs, overgrown houseplants and science pun-themed mugs mixed in with the white porcelain. “Most of the things are Cosima’s.” 

_“Cosima,”_ Fleur purrs, in her velvety, most Veela-esque voice, and Delphine laughs. “A lot has happened that you need to fill me in on in the last five years.”

“Yes,” Delphine agrees, a little heavier. The weight of the last five years--of _everything_ \--settles over her all at once, and she knows Fleur can see it. But she also knows exactly how to deflect her. “How are the children?” 

Fleur shoots her a glare that says _I know exactly what you’re doing,_ but settles happily into her favorite topic. “They are all doing wonderfully, thank you. Victoire is at the Ministry now, one of their official translators--she has a real gift for Arabic, and for Mermish.” 

“She always was very good with languages. I’m not surprised the Ministry recruited her, but I am surprised you let her work for them.” 

“It was her choice,” Fleur shrugs. “And we have more connections in the English Ministry than the French. She’s a family girl.” 

“And Dominique?” 

“Oh, she’s very well,” Fleur smiles fondly. “Her O.W.L.s were all very promising. She could do anything, really, but the way she idolizes her Uncle Charlie--I can’t see her ending up anywhere other than the Dragon Sanctuaries. I’m just glad she’s moved on from her childhood dream of becoming a dragon herself.” 

“If anyone could do it, it would be Dominique.” 

“You can’t ever tell her that, she doesn’t need any encouragement.” Delphine huffs, gentle and fond, and Fleur’s face is fairly shining with love. 

“And little Louis?” 

“Into his second year now--he’s a Hufflepuff, and very proud.” 

“Which house is that one? The nerdy ones, the reckless ones, the backstabbing ones, or the badgers?” 

“The badgers,” Fleur explains, though a slight roll of her eyes tells Delphine she still doesn’t entirely care for or understand the Hogwarts sorting systems. “The house of the humble and hard-working. It’s been difficult for him, these first couple years--not as much as the Potters, of course, but all the Weasley children are subject to a certain degree of scrutiny. He hates being compared to his sisters, so when everyone was lumping him in with all his cousins and uncles…” she trails off with a graceful shrug. “But he had Dominique looking out for him, and they are as thick as thieves, those two. He’s settling in much better now, and doing well in all his classes.” 

“I’m glad,” Delphine says, and it’s warm and true. The coffee maker beeps and she stands, fishing out a traditional white mug for Fleur, and one patterned with Darwin’s finches for herself. “Do you still take it black?” 

“Please.” Delphine pours the coffee and passes it to Fleur before adding cream to her own mug and sitting back down. 

“So,” she says, “you had an eagle in Victoire, a lion in Dominique, and now a badger in little Louis. You need one more child to fill out the set.” 

“Oh, absolutely not,” Fleur laughs, bright and musical. “I’m far too old for more children now.” 

“You’re only seven years older than I am.” 

“That’s my point!” Fleur jabs a finger at Delphine. “It’s your turn now. I need more little ones to pamper.” 

“What about Gabrielle?” Delphine tries to deflect. “And I thought you’d have too much family by now, marrying into the Weasleys.” 

“You can never have too much family,” Fleur dismisses. “And Gabrielle has gotten the same lecture, many times. But Gabrielle also has yet to settle down, while you…” Fleur looks meaningfully at Delphine’s bright mug, at the apartment that shows clear signs of cohabitation. “Well, perhaps I should hear more about this Cosima first--you’ve kept her very secret. How did you meet?”

Delphine takes a long drink of her coffee, looking anywhere but at Fleur. “That has a lot to do with where I’ve been these last five years.” 

“Ah.” Fleur takes a sip of her own coffee, her eyes boring into Delphine. “Are we going to address that elephant, now?” 

“If we have to.” 

“Of course we have to,” Fleur snaps. “Delphine, you frightened me to _death._ A job offer in Canada and then you were gone--not a single word for _years._ The only way we knew you were alive was when ‘Ermione heard you were the director of some institute, but that only lasted a few months, and then you were gone again for two years. Nobody could find you, no one had heard from you. I was so afraid something had happened!”

“You told Hermione about me?” It’s not the part of the speech she should be focusing on, Delphine knows, but it had caught her attention all the same. “Hermione _Granger?”_

“Of course I did, she was the only person I could think of who could try to track you the Muggle way.” Her face softens a bit at Delphine’s expression. “I didn’t tell her everything--I said you were a squib.” Delphine nods, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “She won’t tell, not even her Ronald. But Bill knows as well--he knows everything.” 

“He does?” 

“I told him all about you.” Fleur sets her coffee down and reaches out, pulling one of Delphine’s hands off the coffee mug and wrapping it in two of her own. “My precious, beloved little cousin. I tell him about everything important to me.” 

Delphine is still for a long, long moment, and then she holds Fleur’s hand back. 

“What happened, Delphine?” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“I’m a very smart woman,” Fleur replies. “Explain.” 

Delphine lets out a breath, slow and shuddering, and then another. “I haven’t explained it to anyone--spoken of it to anyone.” 

“It’s a good time to start.” 

Delphine darts a glance up at Fleur’s face. She is impassive, waiting, but not in that predatory way Delphine is so used to. She is simply waiting, ready for whatever Delphine will share, and wanting to hear it. And she knows her cousin--Fleur will wait forever, if that’s what it takes.

“I--you remember how I am a doctor, a kind of Muggle healer. And a researcher as well.” 

“Yes, focusing on--the way bodies fight sickness?”

“Yes, immunology.” Delphine pauses. “I was very good.” 

“Of course you were.” Fleur squeezes Delphine’s hand encouragingly. “I would never expect anything less from you.” 

Delphine smiles, a small and fleeting thing. “I was good enough that an institute called DYAD recruited me. An entry-level position at first, but I wasn’t satisfied with that. So I worked--” _and slept with Aldous Leekie,_ but that part her cousin doesn’t need to know. “--and eventually I was promoted to work on a secret project they had been working on for as long as I’d been alive. An illegal project.” 

“What were they doing?” 

She hesitates, trying to figure out how to explain Project Leda to a woman with a middle schooler’s understanding of biology at best. “You know identical twins?”

“Yes.” 

“They happen when a baby, barely formed, splits into two, yes? But they look exactly the same--they are made from the exact same material.” Delphine feels a bit like Cosima, one hand trying to illustrate what she means. The other is still holding onto Fleur. “DYAD, they had figured out how to do this--make infants that were exactly the same--many times over, called clones. They put each of them, before they were big enough to really be called babies, into different women all around the world.” 

She watches the reality of that and all its implications settle over Fleur--she knows it’s sunk in when Fleur half-recoils, horror curling her perfect face. “They created _babies?_ They grew children in their laboratories and scattered them around the world? They can _do_ that?”

“They weren’t supposed to.” Fleur shakes her head, still trying to come to terms with it. 

“That is inhuman. That is--they should not be able to do that.” 

“I know.” Delphine thinks of scientists crossing the line, wrapping themselves up in possibility and innovation and forgetting the humans. She thinks of how close she’d gotten to that line herself. “But they did.” 

“Why?” 

“To see what would happen.” _And isn’t that the heart of science?_ “They assigned monitors to the children, to watch them growing up and take notes. To make sure the children had no idea they were special, because if they knew it would ruin the experiment. And though when I came to the project when they weren’t children anymore, but fully grown, that is what they recruited me to do.” 

“To monitor one of these clones?” 

“Yes, they were suspecting that she had become self-aware--that she knew she was a clone, perhaps even in contact with other clones. They couldn’t have that happen, so I was supposed to find out everything she knew.” 

“And what happened?” 

“The clone they assigned me to was Cosima.” She can feel her stance shifting with the mention of Cosima’s name, the hurt and the guilt and the _love_ flowing through her, and she doesn’t bother trying to hide it. She looks down into her coffee instead, but when she looks up Fleur is staring at her knowingly. 

“You love her.” 

“Almost from that first moment,” she says, ducking her head immediately. It sounds so ridiculous to even her own ears--love at first sight. Like the fairy tales she never believed in, even growing up in a house with fairies in the attic. “If you met her, you would understand, she is--there was no way for me to _not_ love her, Fleur.” 

“I understand,” and she looks up, and Fleur looks like she really does. “It was the same with Bill and I. I saw him and I knew--perhaps not love at that moment, but I knew I would love him, and it would be forever. I think he knew as well.” 

“I tried to fight it,” Delphine admits. “But that was hopeless. But of course I was spying on her, lying to her--and she was self-aware, and in contact with others. DYAD was more than willing to kill any clones that were a danger or planning to expose them--they’d proved that before. And Cosima was--” She knows now that Cosima has long been cured, that they are safe, but it is still so hard to say. “When they were making the clones, their process wasn’t perfect. Things went wrong. And Cosima was sick.” 

“She was very sick,” Fleur guesses. 

“Other clones had died from what she had, and at the time there was no treatment.” Delphine shakes her head. “DYAD was the largest threat to the clones, at the time, but they also had the resources--they were Cosima’s best chance at survival. I had to stay with them, I had to try to find something to save Cosima.” 

Delphine cuts herself off, takes a long drink of her coffee. She’s somehow already feeling drained, even though she’s doing nothing but talking about the past. “And then things became complicated.” 

“Oh, only then,” Fleur says, raising an eyebrow. They both laugh a little, more in relief that the tension is broken than anything else. “So you became director of this DYAD to gain control, and protect Cosima?” 

“Something like that. It was…” Delphine shakes her head again. “Cosima asked me to protect all her sisters, and so I tried. The things I did, the choices I made...I don’t know. Sometimes I think there was no right choice to make in that situation, but sometimes I think there must have been better choices than the ones I made. But I thought I had to,” she adds in sudden desperation, holding onto Fleur’s hand with the sudden fear that Fleur might pull away. “Everything I did, I was trying to keep them safe, to protect them, I only ever thought I was doing the right thing. I knew it might hurt them, I knew sometimes they would think I was betraying them, but I was trying to do the right thing, I _was.”_

“I believe you.” It’s all Fleur says, those simple three words--but they feel like a crack through all the weight Delphine has been carrying. 

“You do?” 

“Delphine,” Fleur says, reaching out to tilt Delphine’s head up, forcing her to gaze up into Fleur’s clear blue eyes. “I have been watching you since you were a gangly little thing chasing after Gabrielle, almost a year older than her and twice as lost. You think I can’t tell when you’re fibbing?” 

Delphine can remember those days so clearly it hurts--her father had had no idea what to do with a little girl, so she’d been spent the day at the Delacour house most school holidays. She and Gabrielle were closest in age, barely a year apart, but had never quite known what to do with each other--Gabrielle was naturally beautiful, the type of child most things came easily to and a girl firmly entrenched in the Wizarding World, too young to understand how to speak to someone who’d grown up differently. Delphine had been an only and isolated child, too painfully shy and awkward to really hold Gabrielle’s interest at that age anyway. Fleur, even though she’d been a child herself then, had taken one look at Delphine and firmly tucked her beneath her wing. There had been long afternoons of Fleur showing Delphine how to style curly hair--it was only years later that Delphine realized no one in Fleur’s family had curls, and she must’ve learned everything about curly hair for Delphine alone--and Fleur teaching Delphine how to walk in that graceful way that came so naturally to the part-Veela girl. Delphine never did have a mother, not really, but Fleur had been the older sister Delphine had never realized she was craving. 

Maybe that’s why now, she is so desperate for Fleur to understand. 

“I did horrible things, Fleur,” she says, and pretends those aren’t tears springing up in her eyes. “I lied to Cosima, again and again, to keep her away from me and safe. I threatened to kill a woman, an innocent woman. Fleur, I killed a man,” and the words are spilling out now. “I shot him, and I tortured a woman for information, and I hardly feel bad about any of it. The man would have killed me, the woman I tortured wanted to kill Cosima and her sisters, the woman I threatened I thought had put them in danger, the evidence said--but I _don’t feel bad about it,_ Fleur, and I know Cosima would, I think that I should--shouldn’t I?” 

Fleur is silent for a long moment. Delphine wants to snatch all the words back from the air, and is opening her mouth to try and negate what she’s said when Fleur speaks. 

“Do you remember what the Unforgivable Curses are?” 

Delphine blinks at the non sequitur. “I think so--they send you to prison for using any of them, don’t they?” 

“Yes. There are three--one to control, one to torture, and one to kill.” Fleur is quiet for another moment, but her voice is steady and unashamed when she speaks again. “I’ve used two of them. More than once.” 

Delphine sits up. “But you’re not--” 

“No, I’m not in prison. I was never even put on trial.” She pulls Delphine’s hand closer to her, leaning in. “We were at war. And I was not about to let them touch my family. If all I had to do so that my husband, his brothers, all those children who were at the Battle could go home safely was to take on the burden of taking another’s life--it was an easy trade to make.” 

“Fleur,” Delphine says, still a bit disbelieving. “I knew you were at the Battle of Hogwarts, but I never knew that you--” 

“Of course not,” Fleur says easily. “You were already so burdened, I was not about to make it worse for you.” 

“Does Bill know?” 

“Yes, but it was hard.” There’s a tiredness in the corner of Fleur’s eyes that Delphine recognizes. “It took him a very long time to understand. He wanted us to be better than the Death Eaters--but I wanted him to survive. But it was war, and sometimes you can’t have both.” 

“But you got past that,” Delphine half-says, half-insists. “He still loves you.” 

“He never stopped loving me, and I never stopped loving him,” Fleur corrects. “But we had to understand each other as well. That was the difficult part. But we were both willing to die for each other--so we were willing to have those difficult conversations too.” She looks at Delphine sharply. “I think you and Cosima were in that same boat.” 

Delphine shifts at that--she was willing to lay her sins bare for Fleur, but never wanted her to know just how much danger she’d been in. “I--” 

“Don’t try to hide it,” Fleur scolds. “I have had too many dinners in a house full of wounded veterans all pretending they aren’t hurt. I saw the way you moved--you’re hurting. Someone hurt you,” and there’s a fire and rage in Fleur’s eyes. “Who?” 

“He’s dead now. He can’t do it again.” 

“Will you show me?” 

Delphine only hesitates a moment before standing and untucking her blouse, crossing to stand in front of Fleur. The bullet had gone in high on her abdomen, so she rolls her shirt up, and it takes a few seconds before the scar--that simple pink circle of scar tissue. It almost looks harmless now. 

“It’s called a gunshot wound,” Delphine explains softly. “From a bullet--a small piece of metal. Guns shoot them at very high speeds. It went right through--there’s a scar from the exit wound on my back.” 

Fleur reaches out slowly, her fingertips barely brushing the scar, and Delphine shivers.

“I’m sorry--does it hurt?” 

“No, not anymore. A little sensitive, that’s all.” 

“There are potions that can help with that.” Delphine shakes her head a little, putting her shirt back down. “We could have helped you with that war you fought.” 

“Fleur--” 

“You could have come to us.” Delphine has half-turned to sit back down, but Fleur catches her by the arm. “Tell me you know that, Delphine. Tell me you know that we would have helped you, defended you, in any way that we could. We would’ve done it for you, in a heartbeat.” 

“I know,” Delphine says, and hopes Fleur can see it isn’t a lie. “I knew. But Fleur, you didn’t see--you don’t know the horrors those people had done. The atrocities they were willing to commit and create in the name of progress. If they’d known magic existed, if they knew about witches and wizards--they would’ve done anything to understand. _Anything._ If your world had been exposed they would’ve burned it all down to claim it, and I couldn’t risk that. I couldn’t put any of you in that danger.” 

For a moment, she thinks Fleur might slap her. 

Instead, she finds herself wrapped in an embrace for the second time that day, tight enough it hurts.

“You are a _stupid_ girl,” Fleur hisses in Delphine’s ear. “A stupid, selfless, brave girl.” 

Delphine clutches Fleur back. “I’m sorry.” 

“You stupid, wonderful girl,” Fleur says, and sniffs. “I would have _never_ forgiven you if you’d died, you understand? I am so _furious_ with you.” 

“I know. I know. I’m sorry, Fleur, I’m sorry.” 

“Shut up,” Fleur scolds, but she doesn’t let Delphine go. “You have nothing to be sorry for, but _oh,_ you reckless, brilliant girl.”

They hold each other until the spots where Fleur is clutching tightly start to ache, and even then they don’t go back to opposite ends of the table. Instead, Delphine drags her chair and coffee over so they are sitting right next to each other, knees bumping. 

“I will be mad at you forever for getting into such danger,” Fleur says simply, no heat in her voice.

“I know.” 

“Gabrielle is a healer at St. Mungo’s now, you know,” she adds, taking a sip of her now-cool coffee. “I know you don’t like to come into wizarding places, but she could come here, see if she could do something to stop your scars from aching. She’d be happy to.” 

“It would be hard to explain to Cosima.” 

“She doesn’t know?” Fleur blinks. “About your family, or any of it?” 

“There wasn’t much of a chance to discuss it, when we were trying to survive. And she hasn’t asked much in the months since. I’m almost glad,” she admits, guilt curling hot and heavy in her gut. “I hate to lie to Cosima, truly I do--but I’ve had to so often, I’m so used to it, that I don’t know what I would’ve said.” 

“The simple answer is not to lie.” 

“I wouldn’t know how to explain the truth.”

The thing is, if Cosima was a witch, there would’ve been nothing to explain. All she would’ve needed to do was say her last name-- _Cormier_ \--and Cosima would’ve known. 

Her father had been a member of French pureblood family, one traditional enough that when he turned out a squib, had refused to let him keep their family name. He took the name _Cormier_ when he married her mother, and passed it on to Delphine, but Delphine would’ve been called Cormier even if her father had kept his own name. It was an old tradition of the family--all the women of Cormier descent kept the name no matter who their fathers were, like an identifier. Like a warning.

For the Cormier women are Seers. 

That isn’t necessarily unusual in the Wizarding World--people make careers of it, whether they are true Seers or not. But the Cormiers different. All the daughters are true Seers, without exception. And without exception, those visions are cruel.

And Delphine is the last of them.

The life she’s chosen and built tells her to wonder about a rare X-linked recessive gene, perhaps, though that wouldn’t account for the lack of skipped generations. It could perhaps be similar to Rett Syndrome, but again, the fact that it’s present in every generation and the lack of _de novo_ cases--

The voice of her childhood whispers _the first female Cormier, Cassandra, was cursed, her gift of prophecy perverted so she would only ever see the horrors to come, and be unable to tell them to others. And through magic most horrible and mercifully lost to time, her entire bloodline was twisted as well, so every daughter of a direct descendant will bear the same burden until the Cormier bloodline dies._

She presses her hands around the coffee mug, trying to drag out the last bit of warmth. 

“I left that life behind. I ran from it, years ago.” 

“You know the anniversary of the Battle was a few months ago.” Fleur’s voice is gently coaxing. “There are so many witches and wizards who can never come back. But you can, Delphine.” 

“It’s been nearly twenty years,” Delphine objects. “I never finished school--I don’t even have a wand, I haven’t for years.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Fleur insists. “You’re welcome, Delphine. Your birthright is in this world, and we miss you.” 

“I don’t understand how you can stay in it,” Delphine replies. “I only Saw the battle, but you were there--you lived it.” 

“You lived it too,” Fleur says, the cadence of her voice telling Delphine not to argue. “Differently than the rest of us, but you lived it too. And you were a child, and I am sorry.” 

Delphine closes her eyes. She’s gone so long without thinking about it--so long--but none of those memories have ever gone away, just tucked in a corner of her head she never looked at too closely. Out of sight, never out of mind. 

“You don’t understand,” she whispers. “My father was a squib, my mother went mad before I was old enough to know her. The first magic I ever knew was what I Saw.” 

And _oh,_ she’d been a child, but the Visions hadn’t cared about that. There’d been a second war brewing that no one believed could happen, and Delphine had watched it all years in advance. 

The first had been when she was seven, and she hadn’t understood any of it--the shouting, the curses flying through the air, the blood and the explosions, the people falling down and not getting back up. 

Most Seers began having Visions in their teens and didn’t remember what they Saw, only knew they’d begun to See when others told them of the prophecies that had spilled from their mouths. But Delphine remembered it all, and the only thing that came out of her mouth were screams. 

Four years she’d watched the Second Wizarding War, nearly every day. When she wasn’t Seeing that, she’d watched her father, and the terror on his face as he watched his daughter heading down that same path as his wife.

Then they’d watched the War unfold together, listening to secret radio broadcast, reading newspapers, and the occasional letter smuggled to them from Fleur. Her father, horrified, had packed Delphine up and run them both as deeply into the Muggle world as they could go.

“It’s a miracle that I didn’t go mad, like my mother.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Fleur snaps without a pause. “There’s no such thing as a miracle. The fact that you survived and kept your mind is a testament to your strength, no divine intervention needed.” 

“Fleur--” 

“Don’t argue, I’m right.” Fleur tucks a bit of Delphine’s hair behind her ear, the same way she did when they were kids. “I remember how awful it all was for you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

“You helped save the Wizarding World. I can’t be mad at you for that.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you fight this latest war, either.” 

“That wasn’t your fault,” Delphine objects. “I never told you what was happening.” 

“I’m still sorry you had to do it without me.” Fleur kisses Delphine’s forehead, gentle and nurturing. “I am always here for you, little cousin.” 

“And I for you.” Fleur smiles, and gently rests her forehead against Delphine’s. “I always for you.”

Fleur kisses Delphine’s cheek, light and casual and loving, and leans back. “Now, warm up my coffee, it’s long gone cold. What sort of hostess are you?” 

Delphine giggles, like she’s a little girl playing house with Fleur again, and takes Fleur’s mug. “Well what sort of guest are you, to ask so bluntly?” 

“The best guest, the kind that helps her hostess improve.” 

Delphine passes Fleur her newly-refreshed mug and is completely unsurprised to see an assessing look in her cousin’s eyes.

“You’re thinking I should tell Cosima.” 

“Of course I am. This is your entire childhood that you are considering simply hiding forever.” 

“If she knew that I have been lying to her this entire time about my childhood, my family--” Delphine pushes her hair out of her face, half-frustrated and half-afraid. “That could be one secret too many.” 

“They only stop being secrets when you tell them. You can’t think it’ll never come up,” Fleur adds. “When was the last time you had a Vision?” 

Delphine bites her lip. “A few weeks ago--it was so hazy, I didn’t even recognize the people involved. I told her it was a nightmare.” 

“And who was it telling me how she hated lying to her Cosima? Hm?” It isn’t as odd as it should be to see beautiful, vain Fleur acting like a mother--between all three of her children, she’s had nineteen years of practice, and it suits her well. 

“I didn’t even tell her my real name, when we first met. It’s been like this the entire time I’ve known her,” Delphine confesses. “I love her so much, but I don’t know how not to lie to her.” 

“And how will you learn,” Fleur asks, patient and knowingly, “if you never try?” 

Delphine sighs, long and mostly defeated. She knows Fleur’s right. “I will think about it,” she says, instead of admitting it. 

“I suppose I’ll be satisfied with that.” Fleur blows lightly over her coffee and takes a long sip. “This is excellent, by the way. At home, whenever we do have coffee, Bill is always trying to make it with magic--it tastes much better the Muggle way.” 

“Some things just do, I’ve found.” Delphine’s coffee has gone cold, but she is sitting with her most beloved relative, and feels warmed to the core. “But I have missed the magical world sometimes.” 

_I’ve missed you,_ is what she means. 

Fleur smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and Delphine knows she understands.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, I’m back,” Cosima calls, kicking off her shoes as she locks the door behind her. “Sorry I’m kind of late, I got dragged along to the cast party and had to help get Felix home--”

“It’s fine.” Delphine is grinning broadly as she greets Cosima at the door, kissing her lightly. 

“You’re happy,” Cosima notes, sliding off her coat. “Did something happen?” 

“My cousin dropped by,” she explains. “She is still here, actually, if you would like to say hello.” 

“Oh, totally.” Cosima peeks around Delphine’s shoulder to see Fleur sitting on their couch, half-turned away to pretend to give them a bit of privacy. _“Holy shit.”_

Delphine hasn’t been able to see Fleur as anything other than her big cousin for years, but every now and then she sees someone meeting Fleur, and is reminded of what a figure she makes. She wears Muggle clothing much better than most of her relatives, having long ago confessed she prefered the variety in their fashion. The powder-blue blouse and black pants she’s wearing look made for her, one long leg crossed elegantly over the other and moonlight-blonde hair tossed over her shoulder. 

“The fuck is in your genetics?” Cosima whispers, staring between Delphine and Fleur wide-eyed.

“You would not believe me if I said,” Delphine whispers back. 

“No, seriously, how are you all so flawless, I don’t--” 

“Fleur!” Delphine calls, slipping her fingers through Cosima’s. “There is someone I would like you to meet.” 

“Ah!” Fleur turns around, face luminous with delight. “Zis must be Coseema! I ‘ave already ‘eard such wonderful things,” she says, crossing and holding out a hand for Cosima to shake. Fleur’s accent will always unapologetically be molasses-thick, no matter how many years she spends in England, and Delphine loves her for it.

“Uh, yeah, hi,” Cosima stutters. Fleur immediately pulls her in, kissing her on either cheek. Once she pulls back, Cosima looks rather like someone’s hit her in the head.

“Ah, she looks like Ronald when I first met ‘im,” Fleur said fondly, winking at Delphine. “Shall we give ‘er a moment?” 

“I’m fine, I--” Cosima says quickly, blinking. “Um, Fleur, right? Can I get you something? Tea, coffee…?” 

“No, Delphine ‘as treated me well,” Fleur reassures her quickly. “But come, let us sit. I ‘ave so many questions for you.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Cosima says as the three move into the living room. “For one thing, I didn’t know Delphine had any cousins.” 

“Cosima,” Delphine murmurs. 

“It’s true,” Cosima points out, pulling one of their chairs out of the kitchen to perch on while Fleur and Delphine sit on the couch. “So you’re also from France, Fleur?” 

“Yes, Delphine and I grew up togethzer,” Fleur says brightly. “‘Zho we ‘ave not been in touch, these last few years.” 

“Yeah, they’ve been, uh, kinda hectic,” Cosima says nervously, glancing at Delphine. “Are you in Quebec, then?” 

“No, I live in England now, near zhe coast. I did all my schooling in France, ‘owever.” 

“Oh, cool,” Cosima says, genuinely interested. “What brings you here then?” 

_“Mon cousin préféré,_ of course,” Fleur laughs. “I ‘ad to use my vacation days, so I decided to come say ‘ello.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?” 

“Ah…” Fleur glances at Delphine. Delphine freezes, some part of her screaming to lie, run, distract Cosima, _anything._

But some other part, quiet but insistent, reminds her that they are not in danger anymore, not here. That she is so tired of lying to Cosima, that she wants for once to be honest. And there is Fleur’s voice, _how will you learn if you never try?_

“The last I heard, you were staying at home to take care of the children, yes?” Delphine says, the pause having dragged on just a little too long. “But now that Louis is off to school, it makes sense you would be working again. Are you back at Gringotts Wizarding Bank? Or are you at the Ministry of Magic, like most of the family?” 

There is a distinctly proud quirk to Fleur’s lips as she replies. “I am at Ollivander’s Wand Shop, actually. Eet is only stocking and greeting customers now, but ‘e is teaching me much about wand lore and ‘istory. I can also ‘elp at George’s shop when eet is slow, which is lovely.” 

Cosima looks between Fleur and Delphine, waiting for one of them to break. “Am I missing a joke here?” 

Delphine reaches for Cosima’s hand, holding it tightly in her own. “No more lies between us, remember? I want to be honest.” 

“Okay.” Cosima squeezes Delphine’s hand, confused but encouraging. “I’m listening.” 

“There is something I want to tell you about my family.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Delphine:_ The French form of the name _Delphina,_ meaning "of Delphi." Delphi was the location of the first temple to the Greek god Apollo, in legend responsible for giving Cassandra the gift of prophecy, and when he rejected her, cursing her to only see horrors and to never be believed. Delphi was also home to the Oracle, presided over by a priestess who was frequently visited to hear her prophecies.

 _Cormier:_ A surname derived from a French name for the sorb tree, more frequently known as rowan. Rowan trees were long thought to have magical properties, and to be especially harmful to witches.

**Author's Note:**

> If Google Translate and the half-remembered French I learned in Japan haven't failed me, title translates to "the fallen apple," from the old saying "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." 
> 
> This is honestly entirely self-indulgent--mostly just a collection of headcanons I've had ever since looking up the meaning of the name "Delphine." I also realized two of the characters I adore most are French blondes and that I might have a type.
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading! Comments are always cherished--it sometimes takes me forever to reply, but know that I read and adore each and every one. I mentioned in _my heart of gold_ that I've been going through some stuff--things are improving in some ways, worse in others, but the support I've gotten from you guys has meant an incredible amount.
> 
> Know that I love you all, and be kind to each other! You're all brilliant <3


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